


In The Name Of V. Lord

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Gen, Organized Crime, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Mister Lord' (Voldemort) is head of a growing underground empire, founded on activities that the Ministry would deem illegal. He has coerced Lucius into being his front-man for some of his schemes – and pulled Lucius in too far for him to get out.  Nevertheless, Lucius is setting in motion his own contingency plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The All-Seeing Eye

**Author's Note:**

> The first three chapters of this story were written for the 2010 Lucius Big Bang on LJ. Thanks to leela_cat for fast and effective beta. This desperately wanted to be a novel, and I had to rein it back in order to meet the fest deadline. This is posted here as a chaptered fic, with the intention of re-visiting this scenario (which owes a lot to reading/watching Jake Arnott's _The Long Firm_ ) in due course.

Lucius Malfoy flicked his fingers in the practiced motion of an ignition charm and held his cigarette to the resultant flame. He watched the room through the hazy spiral of smoke from his first drag.

It wasn't the sort of place the heir to an ancient pure-blood family might be expected to frequent, a dilapidated warehouse on the junction of Sator Square and Knockturn Alley, and these were certainly not the sort of men that his recently deceased father would have approved of him associating with. Hard-bitten silent men, more used to using hexes than charms, fists than brains.

Lucius found it all really rather exciting.

And he found the wizard who was in control of this dangerous mob, the one who signed his contracts 'V Lord' and whose associates were careful to call 'Mister Lord', when they dared to use his name at all, the most exciting of all.

The man who had been bound by charmed cords to a chair in the centre of the room would not have shared Lucius's opinion. For him the leader of the group, was not so much exciting as terrifying. The damp patch over his crotch gave testament to how terrifying.

Reputation, thought Lucius, dragging smoke deep into his lungs, was a powerful weapon.

"I never talked, Mister Lord. I swear, I never..."

"Swear?" The voice was very soft, almost a hiss, but no one in the room missed a word. "I did not think, Alastor Moody, that it was necessary for me to insist on my people making an Unbreakable Vow. True loyalty does not require coercion. But perhaps I could make an exception – in your very – special – case."

Colour drained from Moody's face. "That's not necessary."

"No?" Lord's voice was merely curious. "Because now you are going to have to find some way of convincing me that you have not betrayed me. And if you _had_ made a Vow it would be so much easier for you. After all, had you lied to me, you would already be dead. By your own hand."

Lucius admired the subtlety of the threat, but suspected that it was lost on the rest of the men in the room. The boss apparently thought so too, for he set the tip of his wand against the bound man's throat, forcing him to lift his eyes to meet the implacable black ones.

"And it would save me the trouble of killing you," he finished.

"No!" The denial was torn from Moody's lips, at the same moment that Lord whispered a single word.

It was not, as Lucius, and everyone else in the room, had expected, the Cruciatus curse, but instead a very quiet _"Imperio_."

The cigarette dangled, unheeded, from Lucius's fingers as he leaned forward to catch the command that must follow such a spell.

Lord was smiling. "You know what the Bible says, Moody? 'If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out?' Well," he leaned forward, over the chair, moving his wand from his victim's throat to his left wrist to free the binding cords there. "Your eye offends me, Alastor."

Moody's body convulsed as he attempted to resist the spell, but the Unforgivables are irresistible. Slowly his hand moved, clawing its way up his body, over his chin, avoiding the man's last ditch attempt to bite his own fingers, until, finally, reaching its commanded destination.

Lucius glanced around the room, aware that Lord was also evaluating the response of his men. The majority had looked away with expressions of disgust or fear on their faces. All save himself and the only other pure-blood in the room, Bellatrix Black.

Discipline, Lucius thought. He and Bella had been raised to understand the use of force and discipline on the family house elves, but he could not help but be impressed by Lord's casual cruelty and imagination.

And, though he dared not show it, Moody's determination.

The man was unconscious now, from pain and the exhaustion of trying to resist the curse.

"Well," Lord looked down at him passionlessly. "He can serve as an object lesson at least. Lucius, take this trash and dump it with the rest of the Ministry's garbage."

Lucius pinched out his cigarette and dropped the butt beside the bloody scrap of flesh that had fallen from Moody's freed hand. With a grimace of distaste he charmed away the rest of the bonds and reached out to grip the shoulder of the unconscious man. He did not appreciate being ordered about like a house elf but it was clear that none of the others had the stomach for this, and one did not cross His Lordship in this mood. And besides, the time had, perhaps, come for him to start making his own contingency plans in case Lord started to look too closely into the activities of his inner circle. He deftly cast a linking circle to ensure that neither of them should Splinch, and Disapparated.

***

They arrived, as Mister Lord had ordered, in the back alley behind the Ministry annex that housed the Auror department. The detritus of the offices was piled high in huge buckets, awaiting the attention of the troll night-soil patrol. The stench was indescribable, for the instant of time it took Lucius to cast _Anosmia_ and conjure a seat. In contrast to his apparent reluctance to touch the tortured man while there were onlookers, Lucius lowered the half-conscious victim with a great deal more care than he had demonstrated before their boss. He knelt beside the chair and gently reached out to catch Moody's chin, turning his head to examine the empty eye socket. He lifted his wand.

"I'm getting too bloody good at healing charms," he muttered, before employing the spells necessary to staunch the blood flow and cleanse the wound.

He had not completed his task when Moody opened his remaining eye and swore.

"Shit."

"Smells like it," Lucius agreed. "His Lordship's demonstrations are getting tougher."

"His Lordship is too damn quick with Unforgivables," Moody growled. "But it might have been worse. He could have used Veritaserum. And then where would we be?"

"You would be exactly where you are now," Lucius pointed out. "Whereas I would probably be screaming under _Cruciatus_. I know too much about Lord's operation for him to take kindly to me discussing his business with an auror – let alone one who is a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Just as well he doesn't have access to a good potions supplier then," said Moody.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, digesting the words, before completing his task of scouring both their clothes of blood and the film of muck from their surroundings. "That'll have to do. " He sheathed his wand, took a silver cigarette case from an inside pocket, extracted a cigarette, and lit it. The first drag calmed his nerves.

"It's getting worse, Malfoy. It's not about ideals any more. He just wants power. And he'll walk over anyone, including his own followers, to get it."

"I know," Lucius said. "But I don't have a choice. And I'm trying not to get my family burned. I trust that you'll make that clear in your report?"

"Yeah." Moody held out his right, unbloodied, hand and Lucius passed over the cigarette. "So what now? I hope you're not planning on delivering me to St Mungo's. The explanations..."

"If I'd intended that I'd have Apparated us there in the first place. No. But we do need to fix you up. And there's a supplier of mine near here who can help."

"A backstreet medi-witch? I could use a bit of rest and recuperation. "

Lucius smiled. A year ago, before becoming involved in this dark underworld of the wizarding community he would not have recognised the oblique reference to the prostitutes who advertised their services as therapeutic medicine. "I'm sure you could. But you'll have to arrange that for yourself." He glanced along the alley. "It's not far. Can you walk?"

"Sure. The bastard didn't kneecap me." Moody pitched the spent fag-end into the nearest of the garbage buckets and stood. "Lead on."

Lucius did so, guiding them both through the detritus of the backstreets of Wizarding London until he reached a dingy shop tucked away between the Muggle and Magical areas of the Inns of Court. The sign that swung over the soot-stained door bore the legend _Curiosities_ , and the items visible through the yellowing windows were an odd mixture of complicated mechanical devices, bottled potions, leather-bound books and expensive-looking jewellery. As Lucius pushed the door open a bell, hung on a rusted spring, gave tongue.

"Customers!"

In response a young man appeared from the rear of the shop, slicking back a quiff of mousy-coloured hair from his acned forehead. "Yeah?" he began, and then his expression changed as he recognised his customers.

"Mr Malfoy! I'll get me Dad... "

Lucius gestured the protest away. "Not necessary. We have come to purchase the object that your father demonstrated the last time you were at the Manor. "

"The All-Seeing Eye? But you said..."

"I said that I had no immediate use for such an object. Particularly as it was very overpriced. However, as you see, my companion is in a position to make you an offer. Provided it does all that your father promised. "

The boy glanced at Moody's ravaged face and nodded. "I'll see whether we still have it in stock."

He vanished into the back room. Lucius turned back to Moody. "We're fortunate. The Old Man would remember us, and he has safeguards against memory-altering charms, but we can _Obliviate_ the boy when we leave. Ah," he broke off as the boy returned bearing a small brass-bound wooden box.

Lucius picked it up, flipped open the lid, and handed the opened box to his companion. "Not your colour," he said. "But needs must. " He turned back to the boy. "I believe the price was fifty galleons?"

Moody hesitated in the action of removing the contents of the box. The cost was enough to pay for a box at the Quidditch Cup Final. Then he realised what he was holding and smiled.

"Lucius, does this do what I think it does?"

"Try it," said Lucius.

Moody lifted the object from the box with his new-cleansed left hand and, with a movement that was almost the reverse of the one that Lord had forced on him, placed it carefully in his empty left eye socket. He grimaced as it slipped into place, though whether from pain or the touch of magic even he could not have said.

"There is an object hanging on the wall behind you," Lucius observed. "No, don't turn round. Tell me what it is."

Moody hesitated, then he took a deep breath and the Eye rolled back in its socket, leaving nothing showing but a porcelain-white surface.

"A stuffed cockatrice," said Moody. "With a chain round its neck and a price tag of fourteen Galleons, five sickles and twenty eight Knuts. "

"Which is extortionate," Lucius observed. "But the Eye appears to be authentic." He turned back to the boy. "Your father also claimed that it could see through invisibility cloaks. We require a demonstration."

The boy scowled, but crossed the shop to lift a silvery cloak from a rack against the wall. Lucius took it from him and swirled the folds around himself, vanishing from view as he did so. He moved silently across the room, and smiled under the hood as Moody's lop-sided gaze tracked him.

"Hmm. Then it does seem to be as advertised." Lucius returned to the counter and threw the cloak down next to the box. "Fifty galleons," he said, opening a charmed purse to scatter gold coins across the counter. "And you will throw in the cloak. I'm sure Mr Moody can find a use for it."

Moody grunted. "Already got one," he said.

"Which you lent to Mundungus Fletcher, and are never likely to – not – see again," Lucius said, acerbically. "At least, not before he's worn it to visibility." He scooped up the cloak and box tossed them to Moody. " I think we're done here."

"All except covering our traces," said Moody as they stepped across the threshold.

Lucius turned back and caught the shop door before it could swing back and activate the bell. He levelled his wand at the boy, who was till looking in astonishment at the gold on the counter. "You sold the All Seeing Eye," he said, as the memory-modification charm settled over his victim like a cobweb noose, "To an old foreign Hag who threatened to call the Aurors and accuse you of assault if you did not drop the price. She left by Floo."

The boy's jaw dropped, and he nodded. Lucius closed the door quietly and rejoined his companion.

"Neat spellwork," Moody grunted.

Lucius shrugged. "He had no shields to speak of. His father wouldn't have made that mistake. No competent wizard would."

"There are too many incompetent wizards out there," Moody said. "And too many in the Ministry and Wizengamot. At this rate by Christmas Mr Bloody Lord will have the whole of wizarding London under his thumb if he's not stopped."

"At this point I doubt that there is much difference between the Ministry's methods and Lord's," Lucius said. "Particularly given Mr Crouch's latest knee-jerk rulings on the use of _Unforgivables_. Both will demand watching carefully."

"Aye. Well," Moody tapped a finger under his new eye, "Looks like the Ministry is my job from now on. You watch yourself, Malfoy. And Lord." He turned and walked away across the bright green sward of Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Lucius watched until he was lost among the knots of picnicking and sunbathing local workers.

And then, as the Dark Mark burned on his arm, he drew his wand and answered his Lord's summons.


	2. Class One Restricted Potions

Three days later Lucius Malfoy was back in the winding lanes of Diagon Alley and its environs, although this time his mission was recruitment rather than disposal. The shop that he entered was a thriving and very expensive Apothecary Supply business. It could not have contrasted more with the dingy backstreet _Curiosities_ and although the boy behind the counter was much the same age he was neatly dressed in clean robes and had his long black hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. His manner, although aloof, was a good deal more professional too.

"Good morning, Sir. How may I help you?"

Lucius smiled, partly with satisfaction at finding the person he most wanted to see and partly with genuine warmth. "Hello, Severus. How is the job going?"

Snape dropped his professional expression in favour of an ironic grimace. "The potion-making is fine – I'm working on some promising new lines – when I get a chance in between serving a procession of silly young witches and impotent old men with lust potions."

Lucius smiled. "As to that, I believe I can help. I have a... colleague... who is looking to employ a competent potions maker. In particular one who would not object to experimenting with some of the more complicated and obscure recipes. "

"Obscure? Meaning 'illegal'?" Snape sounded interested, rather than censorious, and Lucius did not hesitate before nodding. The boy had always been sharp, and he knew that since leaving school Snape had been collecting a formidable personal laboratory of ingredients without being too concerned by the source of the legally restricted ones. Mister Lord's reach was long, and his web of contacts in the wizarding underworld was extensive. The proprietors of shops like _Curiosities_ , and this apothecary paid Lord with information about their clients and their employees, as much as with gold.

And he entrusted Lucius with the accounting for those Galleons, and the sifting of that information. Which was why he had covered his tracks in Lincoln's Inn, and why he was confident that Snape would not object to his proposition.

"'Obscure' meaning that such experiments should be made with only the best ingredients, and the equipment that Mr – my colleague has assembled in his own private laboratory – which would be entirely at your disposal."

Snape's eyes met his. "I have a feeling," he said, slowly, "That this conversation had best be continued elsewhere. Could you meet me at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade tomorrow evening? I have some business at the school first, but will be free at around seven."

***

It had been some years since Lucius had last visited Hogsmeade, and he was no longer familiar with the winding streets and higgledy-piggledy layout of the houses and shops. It was therefore some time after the clock over the horologist's shop had struck seven before he finally turned off Station Lane and into the narrow alley over which the sign of the Hog's Head hung. He could have sworn that one of the glass eyes winked at him as he pushed open the door and crossed the threshold.

Snape had obviously been watching for him, though how he could have seen anyone approach given the dimness of the alley and the filth coating the pub's bullseye-glass bay windows was a mystery. The potions-maker was sitting on a stool at the narrow bar, with two bottles of Golden Hop in front of him. As Lucius entered he raised one to his lips and took a swig, before dropping from the stool, snagging both bottles between the fingers of his left hand, and gesturing Lucius to an empty booth at the rear of the pub, beside the doors leading to the kitchen, toilets and private rooms.

Lucius followed, lifting his robes a little to clear the sawdust on the floor. Really, he thought, the place was positively _Muggle_ in its squalor. Snape apparently agreed, why else would he eschew glasses in favour of drinking very inferior ale directly from the bottle?

They settled into the alcove and Snape passed over the spare bottle. Lucius left it standing, forlorn, in front of him while he drew a wallet from the inside of his robe, extracted a folded piece of parchment and handed it across to Snape.

"A contract," he said.

Snape took it and flipped it open, reading the signature first.

"V. Lord," he said. "A wizard with a certain reputation. You surprise me Malfoy, what possessed you to get involved with Lord in the first place?"

"He made me a business offer that seemed perfectly reasonable and risk-free. It wasn't until I'd committed my cash and my reputation that I realised it was illegal. And by then I was in too deep. Lord has charisma, and a knack of getting people to do what he wants without need for the _Imperius_ curse."

Snape smiled. "Irresistible force and immovable object? There are those who might say the same about you, Lucius."

"I hope that my business transactions are more financially advantageous." Lucius picked up the bottle and drank a couple of mouthfuls before setting it down again with a grimace. "Like this one. You could do worse than work for Lord. You'd get the best facilities – and forewarned is forearmed – I've told him you'll brew nothing that's illegal."

"Yet," said Snape. "The Ministry is revising the regulations almost hourly. It may not be long before there are restrictions on first-year headache draughts, let alone Veritaserum and Polyjuice."

Lucius looked at him sharply. "But there are no such restrictions yet. And those particular potions are of interest to Lord. Do you have any reservations about brewing them?"

"No."

"So that means you'll accept the offer? I need an ally within his organisation Severus. Someone I can trust."

"I have no reservations about the potions," Snape said. "But about the contractor... I'll think about it. Over another drink." He rose from his seat and made his way back to the bar, calling for the landlord as he did so.

Lucius leaned back against the rough wood of the booth, noting as he did so the slight draft from the door to the next room. He had intended to review the course of the conversation, and consider what further arguments he might bring to bear to convince Severus to join him but he was distracted when he found that in that position he could hear the people on the other side of the door quite clearly. The pub had an unsavoury reputation, and he suspected that some whore had hired the room to transact business with a client too squeamish to use the alley. And long association with Lord and his like had taught Lucius the value of eavesdropping. He started a little as he recognised the man's voice. Warm, reassuring, and unmistakable – at least if one had heard it from the podium in the Great Hall at Hogwarts every morning for seven years. What, he wondered, was Albus Dumbledore doing entertaining a woman in the private rooms of the Hog's Head?

His speculation was interrupted by Snape's return, bearing two more bottles, and a basket of baked savouries. As he set them down on the table, and re-seated himself, Lucius took the calculated risk of casting a privacy charm on their booth. Now, though they could still hear everything going on in the room, and the one beyond, their own conversation was inaudible to others. Nevertheless he still kept his voice low as he picked up his drink.

"When you were here earlier, did you notice who went into the next room?" he asked.

"Albus you mean? It's his brother's pub. He drops in occasionally for a meal – helping out the family finances."

"So who is the woman?"

Snape shrugged. "Some young witch. Nobody I've ever seen before. A cousin, maybe? Is it important?"

"Anything that Albus Dumbledore does may be important. And all knowledge is power. I wonder..." Lucius broke off as something shattered with a sharp crack on the other side of the door. Liquid sprayed across the small patch of floor that was visible from their own position, soaking into the sawdust before it was followed by the pieces of a broken teacup.

"Sybill?" Dumbledore's voice held concern as well as surprise. He was answered not, as the listeners had expected, by the high girlish voice they had heard earlier, but by a deep, trancelike chant.

 _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."_ The words were firm and clear. Lucius held up a hand to prevent Snape's interruption. Neither of them had any doubt about what they were hearing. _"...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,"_

"July," Lucius breathed, and his eyes were hard, unreadable.

The portentous voice continued, _"...And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."_

"What?" Snape made an involuntary movement – and one of the bottles on the table tipped over, the clatter of glass on wood enough to drown out the voice from the next room – even before one of the occupants pulled the door shut, cutting off the chance of further eavesdropping. "Damn." He pulled out his wand to clear the mess, and it was a moment before he realised that Lucius still had not moved. And his normally pallid face was chalk white. "Lucius? What is it?"

"A prophecy," the other man said, his lips barely moving.

"Obviously. Albus seems to have found a seeress from somewhere. Though I wouldn't expect him to give much credence..."

"A prophecy about the defeat of the Dark Lord," Lucius continued as if he had not heard. "By a child born at the end of July. To someone who has defied him thrice."

Now Snape was genuinely concerned. "If Mr Lord believes in prophecies then I expect he'd be interested in hearing about this one. Do you think he'd reward us for telling him about it?"

"Oh yes," breathed Lucius. "He'd believe it. And he'd start by finding a way to ensure it wasn't fulfilled."

"So? Finding one kid would be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

The other man's eyes met his. "That is what I'm afraid of. He might not look far. Narcissa is pregnant, Severus. Our first child is due in a few months. At the end of July."

Now Snape understood. "You think... Have you defied him, Lucius?"

"I have not, perhaps, been as circumspect in criticising his more risky plans as I should have been. He might see it as defiance. And I think – I know that he has very direct solutions to problems. He would not be the first to demand of his followers the sacrifice of their firstborn."

Very few people had ever seen Lucius Malfoy panic, and fewer would have recognised it when he did. Snape leaned across the table, lowering his voice, though the privacy charm made it unnecessary. "Lucius," he said carefully, "You know that Divination isn't an exact skill. Even if this is a true Foreseeing it could refer to any child. There must be some others with a better claim. Purebloods who aren't in Lord's circle." He hesitated, then added, "Potter's been a general nuisance to everyone, especially Slytherin alumni, for years. And he's been boasting about becoming a father. I think that's due at the end of July. But would Lord worry about a half-blood kid?"

Lucius gave a wan smile. "He's half-blood himself. Didn't you know? It's not something he advertises, but my father did some research into the Slytherin house families before he sent me to Hogwarts. The man may be a Parselmouth, but he's not one of us."

Snape refrained from pointing out his own blood status – it was a measure of Lucius' state of mind that he had forgotten it. Instead he focussed his attention on the more immediate problem. The next pureblood Malfoy. "There is a potion," he said, "that can advance or retard a pregnancy by a short time. It means a risk, a child born prematurely may not be as strong or healthy as if it went to full term, but with care..."

"Any child of mine and Narcissa would have the best care possible," Lucius looked suddenly hopeful. "And a premature birth is infinitely preferable to an early death at the end of Lord's wand. Can you brew this potion?"

"I..." Snape hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Then do so. And come with me to the meeting next Thursday. You'll have something to offer Mr Lord besides your skill at potions. I want you to tell him about this prophecy. I think," he rose from the table and swept his cloak from the back of the settle, "I think that together we might do something to change our world."


	3. Blackest Night

The scene was achingly familiar to Lucius. It had been a year since he had last stood in the circle of Death Eaters while Voldemort (he had ceased to use the fiction of the Muggle title), dealt with a captive traitor. Only this time the person bound to the chair by magical cords was a potential traitor to the Order, not to Voldemort. And the venue was very different.

The place was an old tithe barn in the grounds of the Tudorbethan executive home that Lord's criminal empire had financed. For all his contempt for Muggles and Mudbloods the wizard valued the luxuries that they created and the trappings of power they represented. Even in the wizarding world there were those who could be impressed by a heated swimming pool, a custom-built games room, an ice-store that did not have to be constantly tended by house elves or sustained by magic.

At least, Lucius thought, glancing up at the great timber beams, charred by centuries-old fires and held together by nothing but carved wooden pegs, this place was not tainted by Muggle substitutes for good clean magic.

Even when that magic was being used for less than clean purposes.

He wished that he had a cigarette; something to occupy his hands and take his mind off the possible consequences of failing today. But he had given that up, on Severus's advice and at Narcissa's insistence, when their son had been born, not wishing to test the child's delicate health too far.

In fact Severus was very much the architect of this moment. He had bought the man in the chair here, and persuaded him to listen to the offer that Voldemort was about to make. Or rather, that Lucius was about to make on his Lord's behalf.

And if the pathetic excuse for a wizard failed to see which way the wind blew, he would undoubtedly be forced to submit to the force majeure of Voldemort's wand.

At an almost imperceptible nod from Lord, Lucius stepped forward into the circle of hooded Death Eaters, and leaned a hand on the back of the chair. "Pettigrew, isn't it?" he asked, though he knew the answer. "Of the Essex Pettigrews. A very old and distinguished line. I'm sure that your friends appreciate that."

The small, watery eyes looked up at him. "They never said anything about my family."

"No?" Lucius employed his most concerned tone. "But families are important, Peter. We understand the worth of good breeding. I have a number of your uncle's works in my library. I can't believe that such a very distinguished scholar should be the only brain in the family. Professor Slughorn must have certainly recognised your qualities?"

The young man smiled, a flash of sharp yellow teeth. "Yeah. He wanted me for his Club. I'm bloody good at hexes."

Lucius moved closer. He was almost whispering now. Intimate. Secret. This was a lot easier than _Imperius_. Diplomacy. The art of saying just the right thing, at just the right moment. The thing that your victim wanted to hear. When it came to flattery, as the saying went, it was best to lay it on with a trowel. "But your so-called friends don't appreciate that, do they? They think you're weak. Insignificant. They leave you out of their plans, don't they?"

"I only ever get to be lookout when they're doing anything important." It was almost a whine – clearly a long-practiced complaint.

Lucius smiled. Got him. But his voice was all concern. "They'd never ask you to be their Secret Keeper, would they?"

"No."

"But you'd be perfect for it. Who would expect you to be trusted with anything so important? To allow yourself to be bound by such a powerful ritual?"

The small eyes were calculating now as Pettigrew absorbed the words, understood what he was being asked to do, and weighing what reward he might get.

"If you could persuade them," Lucius went on, his voice almost crooning now, a binding-charm of his own, "To allow you to know where Potter and his son are hiding, it would be so much safer for them. You're much more trustworthy than the Black boy. Or the werewolf. You could persuade them, couldn't you? After all, you are so very, very clever."

"Yes." He nodded vigorously. "Yes. I'll do that."

Lucius stepped back. Working that particular form of magic - persuasion that left no trace of coercion, or Imperius, was exhausting, but ultimately very satisfying. He nodded to Snape. To Voldemort.

"He is ours," he said.

Voldemort looked at him, then around at the assembled Death Eaters. "Good," he said. "You have done well Lucius. And Severus." His narrow mouth curved in a parody of a smile. "So. It has begun."


End file.
